“If I, get to know your name If I, could
trace your private number baby… I want
some, want some. I set my sight on you
(and no one else will do) And I, have got
to have my way now baby… Watch out,
here I come.”
—Pete Burns “You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)”
The goal is to stay fresh.
Zip-locked. But do not open the package
if the seal is already broken. Virgin almond.
Prune the stone fruit
and throw the shell to the ocean.
Fertilizer is the same seed. Roasted
on asphalt and bagged for convenience,
there is no comparison when it comes to protein powder.
A button determines the difference
between a fly and waistline,
while keys control the tone
of a doorknob
or how a marathon can be stretched
into a sentence.
Unfettered words.
To blanch the flesh
loses nutrients and damages the organ.
Rap about bandages and lost fingers
to the food disposal.
Find a hat with no brim
and a tie to clip hair back.
The mean are not nice
but are the middle dividend
within a numerical list.
But what of cashews and macadamias?
The oil can be squeezed like an olive
and dumped into a fritter,
to stock up on cholesterol
so the heart doesn’t slack off.
The main event has its own brand of milk
for the lactose intolerant,
perfect to sip in tune with Tchaikovsky.
In case the cracker is forgotten
they can still be smashed open on a table,
just don’t forget the cheese platter.
The cultivation process was never explained.
It’s silly to waste a tongue or neuron
on how to climb an oak tree to hand-pick acorns.
Back to the boiler.
To be formal: pecan or pistachio?
With the right grinder
and enough will power,
butter can be quite the reward.
It is not the question of crunchy or smooth. Mongongo.
The problem is it cannot be translated.
Oh, the ambiguity of it.
When a sudden shift takes handlebars to a misdirection
the groin is impaled on a bicycle cushion.
Ice is no form of medicine,
unless it floats in a glass of bourbon.
A bowl of pretzels is not suitable for cocktail hour.
Better be sober and reapply chapstick
if dry lips are not to leave
a print of evidence.
Hydrate on an hourly basis
or as soon as the roof must be licked
clean of a single germ or shingle nailed down.
Stiletto a big toe
until the nail falls off
and there is blood on the heel.
To heal hurts more than the initial injury.
No amount of sequins can pay for a Venetian dress,
unless the sparkle and spangle dangles from the cloth
before the night of prom. Apply perfume outside.
The fumigation system is currently offline,
so be aware
the smoke detector is just the sense of smell.
A toilet has no sentiment,
just calcium deposits
and a mixed relationship with the sink.
Talk dirty but write sterile,
forbid there is a tape recorder
beneath the pillow.
But to go on without a pause
between spoken words
would make no sense
and confuse the audience
who witness the mess happen
behind a podium
dedicated to a particular politician
who refuses to acknowledge
the proper use of shalom
on the high holidays.
Take a breath.
Time does not wait
but still has Tom Waits sing
about the calendar girl who kills
pigeons with a boot knife. Not to repeat
butter or oil, but what else is there to slather
on a loin? Cloth
napkins are only to be used when guest
come over for dinner. With a wicked flick or pinch
there is no need for weapons.
Within a snap, peas will be
the standard measurement.
Without vegetables on the table
the painter can focus their attention
on strictly fruits. Let’s get back to the point.
There is no cure for back pain so just put ice on it.
Why is it that men must pre-fix
unbroken property, without claim to a strict
period. Menstruation is beyond an understandment.
Can anything change
or spare a jar to shake?
Before common sense could be purchased
in a bodega for a few cents,
on the shelf
next to ointment for a paine in the wrist
and the trail mix favored on raisins.
After the number eight wore pants
and no longer ate carnivorous,
without a napkin in their lap
to brush off flecks of salt.
Oral sex.
Nuts!
Sheriff B.J. Franke is an MFA student in poetry at The New School.
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